It was a quiet rainy day, a normal one, nothing seemed to be different than usual. Not at first at least. The drops were falling from the sky almost violently, and her chest felt heavy, her head weary, like on all the normal days.
Her feet walked, steady - even when she felt weak, step after step, until she reached the tall building that she worked in.
Emily walked to the elevator, slowly, her black hair glistening in the soft light, as the elevator stopped and she quietly walked out into the room, her eyes wondering over the space. She took a deep breath, walking into the bullpen, her feet finding their way to the team-meeting almost automatically, the routine the same as whenever they had a new case.
Penelope walked in, presenting the case, the team listening, quietly remarking hypotheses every now and again, before Hotch said the usual “Wheels up in thirty.” and everyone nodded. “Prentiss.” he said, and Emily all but snapped to turn to look at him. “Yes?”
“I need to talk to you, in my office.” Hotch’s voice was firm, as always, his face harsh, but that was just how he was. And the female agent just nodded, her mind racing, her face not showing any of it.
And like that they walked to his office, neither of the speaking, side by slide, and for some reason Emily got a little comfort from it - from those small, tiny moments, in which she could just be.
And as they went into the office, all her defenses got knocked down. And as she came out, she wasn’t the Emily that hid her emotions anymore.
They were clearly visible on her face, said emotions, not able to hide it, as she walked out of the building again, and went home. Noone saw her, and in her heart she was grateful for it, because the strength she needed for having to talk to any of them, she just couldn’t find in herself, at that moment.
And so she went home, ordered a pizza, sat down on her couch in a tanktop and underwear while eating it, a million questions, a million memories, a million words, a million memories in her mind.
It started raining again, and Emily watched the drops slowly finding her way down the window glass, setting her wine glass down, with a curious, almost melancholic look on her face watching the little drops racing down. And she felt nothing. Or did she feel something?
Her chest was heavy, the already so familiar feeling was in her chest, but she wasn’t sure anymore, if that counted as feeling. Because if she didn’t pay attention to it oh so closely, she was just- numb.
A little sigh fell from her lips as she got up, pulling on a pair of pants and a coat. And as she took the elevator down, she couldn’t help but feel the familiarity of feeling nothing. It wasn’t healthy, not at all, she knew, but it just- It was what it was. Life simply wasn’t always pretty.
With these thoughts she walked through the door, out on the street, the cold air forcing herself into her lungs - burning, her coat clinging tightly around her, as if it was the only thing that ever tried to protect her.
And she took a deep breath, as fucked up as it was, enjoying the feeling of the burning in her lungs, in her throat. She started walking, because something she needed to feel, and she knew there were certain things simply off-limit when it came to feeling.
And so she ended up in a bar, and as she started downing drinks, meaninglessly flirting with men every now and again, until finally, finally she reached her goal.
In the messy bathroom, a horrible smell around her, she ended up sandwiched between the stall door and a man, moaning loudly, and right now she felt. Maybe it wasn’t what she was supposed to feel, probably not at all, but at least she felt something. Pain, discomfort, the intrusion into her body feeling unnatural, in a way.
And she turned her head to the side, her hollow eyes fixed on the door, feeling, feeling, feeling.
☆☆☆
Nervously she stepped out of the car. So nervous. It had been a while since she had felt this anxious, this nervous - a while since she felt anything that deeply. It was also more than that, too.
It was this weird mix of feelings. Like she was finally home. A home that she didn’t belong to, a home she didn’t belong in. But home. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the screams in her mind, her hand slightly shaking, she raised it up to knock at the door.
The door opened, and there he was. William Lamontaign Jr. He had been, yeah, she could call him that, he had been her best friend, such a long time ago. She smiled at him, a small almost sad smile, but it was the best she could muster. She raised her hand shakily to his face, but he turned to the side quickly.
Right. He was probably married now. “Emily?” he all but breathed out. “Will.” she replied. And he seemed to remember his manners then, asking her to come in, and so she did. And the smell, the people, everything seemed like childhood, so far away, so so far away, and yet so close.
She walked around then, greeting the people, her aunts - they weren’t really her aunts, but it was just how it worked. They were her aunts, somehow. And yet, they all looked at her, as if she was the worst person they had ever seen, as if she was evil incarnate.
She shook hands, hugged some of the women, talked and made small-talk, and even so she felt strange, out of place, under the scrutinizing eyes of the church-members just so judged. It was crowded, so many people, she remembered it from her childhood. She could never stand it, it made her fidgety and anxious, and seemingly hadn’t gotten better with time.
Quietly, invisibly she walked towards the kitchen, leaning against the counter, closing her eyes for almost a moment, before she heard footsteps, looking up to see Will walking into the kitchen.
He didn’t say anything, just looked at her curiously, and she let out another small smile. It wasn't honest, it wasn't sincere, but she wasn’t sure what to say, what to do.
“Thank you for letting me know. About my fathers’ death.” her voice was almost too quiet, and he just nodded slightly, didn’t really reply and Emily's attention was drawn away from it quickly, as her eyes caught on the ring on his finger. “You’re married?”
And he nodded, almost as if the question was strange, as if she should know that, and she really could have guessed. Because that was just how things worked here. “Who’s the lucky girl?”
It had advantages, having the job she had. it had taught her a lot about hiding how she really felt, lying without showing not a single expression or indication that she was. Because that girl, no matter who she was, and now matter how Will was one of the better ones in the community, was no lucky girl.
Pictures flashed in her mind for part of a second, pictures of her own mother, pictures of all the women she grew up with, having children after children, washing dish after dish, doing laundry after laundry all while the men did whatever they did.
They worked, brought home money, and so whenever they were home it wasn’t their obligation to help. They did enough, or at least that’s what they said.
Something inside of Emily had always revolted against that, ever since she was a little girl of three years. It never seemed fair. She could practically hear her mother telling her that that was simply the natural order of things, that it was how it worked, that women were created to take care of the house and children, that they were subordinate, and even back then it had made her - enraged.
She had never shown it, she couldn’t and she knew. Then her mother had died, and-
She shook her head quietly, pulling herself out of her thoughts and looking over at the man again. “Tell me. Who is Mrs. Lamontagne?”
And he smiled, started talking, said “Emily.” and it seemed wrong the way he said it. As if he were about to tell her something bad, something-
Everything went white in her mind. Or black? Empty.
There she was. JJ. Her real childhood best friend. She hadn’t dared to ask about her, hadn’t even hoped she would see her, but there she was, dishes in her hand that she put down on the table, looking up at the brunette, with a mixture of emotions, that Emily simply couldn’t read.
“JJ.” she said, and the blonde shook her head. ”Jennifer.” she corrected, and for a moment, Emily didn’t understand. Maybe because she didn’t want to understand.
“JJ.” she replied, again, her brain not grasping why she wasn’t exactly JJ, anymore. And JJ shook her head, a sly, wrong smile on her face, but it wasn’t honest, wasn’t sincere, and Emily almost wanted to ask what had happened to her, when it suddenly dawned on her.
Jennifer. not JJ. Because she wasn’t Jennifer Jareau, anymore. She was - just Jennifer now, Jennifer-?
“Jeniffer.” Emily breathes out, and the blonde nods. “Jennifer Lamontagne.”
And the world went a little black again. Or white. Just, an explosion, as if the world ended at that information. Maybe it did?